


Deceptive Appearances

by firefright, Skalidra



Category: Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Arkham Asylum, Blatant Disregard for Timelines, Hallucinations, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-04
Updated: 2018-09-30
Packaged: 2019-05-17 21:22:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14839404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firefright/pseuds/firefright, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skalidra/pseuds/Skalidra
Summary: When Slade finds himself locked into Arkham Asylum, a ghost from his past talking to him at all hours of the day, it's not a turn of events that he's at all pleased with. But beyond the host of psychotic criminals locked inside, maybe there are allies as well; other people that want out. That is, if he can manage to trust them. Or them, him.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to another Skali and Fire collaboration! So, this one has, first of all, a utter and complete disregard for timelines. Recently, ( **spoiler for Deathstroke comics** ), Slade ended up in Arkham. Now, Fire and I both wanted to play with the idea of both Slade and Jason being in Arkham at the same time. So, consider that your warning for our ignoring any modicum of timeline sense. And there's your basis for the fic. Have fun, guys! XD
> 
> You can find [Firefright's tumblr here!](https://firefrightfic.tumblr.com/)  
> You can find [Skalidra's tumblr here!](https://skalidra.tumblr.com/)

It hasn’t been the greatest of weeks, as far as Slade is concerned. He could do without the phantom that seems utterly convinced it wants to talk to him at all hours, for starters. Being locked in Arkham, and the betrayal by most of the people around him to get him sent here at all. The betrayal he’s not surprised by, but this twist to it is irritating. He has a reputation, and that reputation does not include being _crazy_.

He’s had one session with a ‘therapist’ that seemed frankly more interested in interrogating him about his past and history of jobs rather than say, the accusation which brought him here. That he’s been hearing voices, which unfortunately isn’t as inaccurate as he’d like.

Something illustrated by the fact that although Slade himself refuses to pander to this self-important college graduate by answering any questions, Billy’s projection keeps up a running commentary on the man. Including a dozen easy, efficient ways to kill him that are all possible to complete long before anyone has a chance to stop him. It’s tempting, Slade admits that, but not conducive to his actual goals in any sort of long term.

Almost nothing Billy suggests is, though it all sounds cathartic in a very violent way. A welcome relief from the monotony of the padded cell, anyway, if Slade were foolish enough to sacrifice future plans for immediate satisfaction.

He’s not, so he restrains every impulse, ignores every murderous suggestion, and plays the relatively perfect prisoner. Docile, but uncooperative. It earns him, after just over a week — tracking time by meals and the pattern of the lights — access to the rest of Arkham. Limited, guarded access anyway. An escort from his cell to what must be the main hall, giving him a look at not much more than corridors and other cells, with a defined lack of weaknesses.

Slade’s not surprised. This place is, after all, run by Batman and his collection of family. There will always be gaps or soft spots in security, but the Bats must have ground out as much as possible over the years.

The guards let him go just past the door to the hall, after a pointed reminder that any violence will activate the shock collar around his throat. He’d be tempted to risk it if A, he wasn’t sure that Isherwood and Adeline made sure it’s enough to take him down, and B, if the lack of sleep and constant strain of ignoring his personal ghost wasn’t making him feel worn in ways he hasn’t felt in years. Even a normal shock collar might be enough, at this point.

The other inmates, of various levels of either gibbering lunatic or psychotic madman, hold no interest for him, so Slade makes his way across the room to a relatively secluded table and takes it as his own. The bench isn’t particularly comfortable, but it and the attached table are void of anyone else so that’s good enough; they’re also bolted down into the concrete.

Taking stock of the room becomes his next priority, now that he’s found a spot to do it from. Guards at every door, plus more in a security station visible through what’s presumably very thick plastic. Windows only near the ceiling, and those have heavy steel bars over them. It’s a very defensible room, and every form of ‘recreation’ Slade can see doesn’t have anything that could be used as a decent weapon. Probably to be expected.

Just how unpleasant the common area is becomes clear fairly quickly. It’s _loud_ for one, especially to his slightly heightened hearing, and the mass of inmates and their somewhat unpredictable movement is making him frustratingly paranoid. He’s not a fan of enforced periods of complete solitude, but he’d probably choose the cell over staying in this place for any length of time.

Slade doesn't know if it's exhaustion or just the utter overload of his senses — trying to keep track of everything within the circumference of the room, drawing him tense at every chilling shriek or laugh that slices into his ears — but somehow he doesn't see the kid coming till he's almost on top of him, and at that point his only reactions are excessive violence or complete restraint, so he picks restraint. The kid drops down onto the bench beside him, arms stretching out over the table behind them like he doesn't care how dangerous of a man he just invaded the space of.

Maybe he truly doesn't, except that when his gaze finishes its sharp flick over the rest of the room and turns to Slade there's a focus there that belies the casual relaxation of his sprawl. There's also a note to his voice that's a little wary. Trying not to show it.

"Slade Wilson."

Slade holds the kid's gaze, and pushes as much hostile warning into his voice as possible when he counters, "Jason Todd." The kid looks surprised for just a moment, and Slade scoffs and clenches his hands together a little harder between his knees. His fingers ache. "None of you are as subtle as you think you are. Now walk away, kid."

His demand is ignored, and the kid settles a little more firmly against the bench. "I never pegged you as crazy.”

"Insolent brat," Billy says from in front of him, staring down with clear distaste. "A shot to the gut ought to teach him some manners. Or if you want more permanency—”

"I'm not," he snaps, before he can hear the suggestion on how to kill the boy sitting next to him. "I mean it, kid. Walk away. I'm not interested in company."

"Why? This a job for you? I'll stay out of the way if it is, no problem, but otherwise you might want to reconsider." Todd shrugs, glancing across the room again. "Not a place to be weak and friendless in, especially with a name like yours."

" _Weak?_ " Billy demands. "Slade—”

"I could snap your neck in a heartbeat, _boy_.”

Todd looks him in the eye. "Sure, but killing without some contract paying you for it isn't really your thing either, is it?"

"Irritation is compelling motivation." Todd actually snorts a little at that, but schools his expression back to normal before Slade decides whether it's aimed at him or not. "What do you _want_ , kid?" he demands, letting that irritation leak into his tone and prove, at least at a surface level, that he isn't going to put up with this much longer.

Todd seems to chew a response for a few seconds, something considering in his eyes before he finally speaks. "I'm wondering why you're here. I'm getting the impression you don't want to be, which means that someone else had you sent here. I also heard from gossip that you're hearing voices, which sounds like either a pretty blatant lie, or a real shit turn of fate for you." Todd pulls his arms off the bench, leaning forward to brace elbows on his knees and mirror Slade's posture. "So what I want to know is whether you could be a decent ally, and we can maybe get _out_ of here, or whether you've actually snapped and I shouldn't bother. You got an answer to that?"

Slade looks at the kid, and the fire in his eyes. Hard determination and still that little bit of wariness hiding away in the back. No wonder, if he's actually considering whether Slade's gone off the deep end. Bat training won't save him if Slade strikes, not at this distance, not with no protection. It would be a single moment's work to cave the boy's throat in.

"That's better. Get your head in the game, Slade." Billy's smiling, at the edge of his peripheral vision. "The boy's just an irritation. Get rid of him."

Slade takes a slow breath, and makes himself ease his own grip on his hands before he breaks something.

"I haven't snapped," he says, keeping his voice as even as he can manage. "And it's a little more comprehensive than just voices."

"Slade, stop. The boy's useless."

Todd studies him, eyes narrowing as he apparently compares those two contrary statements. "You're hallucinating, but not crazy." Slade doesn't bother responding. "Alright, I'm going to need a little more information than that. No offense."

"Is it hallucinating if someone else does it to you?" Slade asks, aiming for dry but only coming out a sort of slightly-less irritated.

"That sounds like it's a hell of a story," Todd says, more commenting than seeming to imply Slade should tell it, but he's worn a little thin and in no mood to be entertaining.

He's aware that he snaps the, "You tell one first, kid. Why are you here?"

Todd takes the question in stride, shrugging and then offering a slightly bitter, "Family intervention. Violent one. Stuck me in here to not have to think about me; not a situation I like much."

"Not just because the Lazarus Pit drove you mad, then?"

He asks it mostly to get a reaction — petty enjoyment of what basic power he still has — and Todd certainly gives one. His teeth bare for a moment, his shoulders rising as he snaps, "I'm not—”

He cuts off though, and Slade watches in slight interest and distanced amusement as Todd shakes his head and breathes in, as slowly as Slade made himself do. It sours as quickly as it came though, as Todd lifts a hand and rubs over his eyes in one moment of clear weakness, before it falls away and his expression and posture hardens into something he probably thinks is unbreakable.

"I'm a killer, but I'm not crazy. I knew exactly what I was doing. I'm _here_ because my family would rather not believe that, and it's not like I can argue the point from in here. Not easily, anyway." Todd meets his gaze again. "That good enough for you, Slade?”

"Leave the boy to his drama, Slade. You work better alone; don't you remember that? Trying to work with a _team_ is what got you in this mess." Billy's voice is a sharp, needling presence in his ear, and Slade takes more time repressing his reaction to it than he does considering Todd's answer.

"My ex-wife, former partner, a girl I once used, and my son's boyfriend worked together to take me into custody. At least some of them, if not all, are also trying to make me appear insane, presumably so they could imprison me here." Before Todd can say anything, Slade stresses, "Yes, I'm aware how paranoid that makes me sound. It's still the truth."

Todd shifts, hands clasping together. "So… Adeline, Wintergreen, and that's what? Terra?"

Slade blinks, taken a little off guard.

"You're not the only one who knows names they shouldn't." Todd shrugs, glancing around the room for a second. "I don't know the last one though. Can't say I'm caught up to date on who Joey's dating these days."

Slade settles himself with a bit of effort, and fills in, "David Isherwood. He grafted a neural transmitter to my spine, which was supposed to keep me tethered to a church he'd picked to force me to spend time with a priest. It also is projecting an image—”

" _Slade_."

"—of a much younger Wintergreen to me. Mimicking his voice." It's tempting to look at Billy, but Slade resists on the basis that it will make him look even more crazy than he sounds. "He said it was disabled. Clearly it's not."

Todd doesn't show any immediate reaction except to narrow his eyes a touch, something studying in his gaze. "You're sure?" he asks after a minute, sounding confirming rather than accusatory.

"Hallucinations have never been a habit of mine," Slade answers, a little tightly, "and I was shocked when I tried to leave the church so yes, I am certain there is something there. This phantom," he flicks his hand roughly Billy's direction, "showed up immediately afterwards. Whether purposefully or not, Isherwood did this to me.”

Todd's gaze flicks to the space he gestured to. It's empty, he's sure, but his image of Billy still sneers down his nose at the kid. As if Billy would be so openly hostile to a kid; he was always better with them than Slade ever was, and he doesn't care to pretend any different. Todd's big but he's young. Vulnerable. Billy might have been standoffish to him, but he never would have been hostile.

"Oh don't get sentimental now, Slade. It doesn't suit you."

Todd's gaze comes back to him. "Alright. Well, that's good enough for me. Do we have a deal then? Work together to get out?"

Slade narrows his eye, studying Todd's expression. It's sincere, as far as he can tell. "Why do I need you for that, kid? I can break out of a prison just fine."

"I'm sure you can." Todd straightens a bit, rolling both shoulders back and taking a more obvious look around the room, a lingering one. "I know Arkham better than you do, to start with. And not just the security here; the rest of the family keeps a close eye in case of any breakouts, so you've gotta bypass their alarms as well as Arkham itself. I know Gotham better too, and getting out of the city is going to be just as tough as getting out of here." Todd looks at him then, tilting his head and raising an eyebrow. "Also? You look exhausted. I think you could use someone watching your back.”

Technically, that’s all true. _Technically._ But that doesn’t mean Slade has to like it.

“And after we’re out?”

“You go your way, I go mine.”

“He’s lying.” Billy hisses from his side of the room, “And even if he’s not up to something, he’ll just slow you down. Let him rot here, Slade. You don’t need him.”

That’s easy for him to say, being a hallucination. Slade on the other hand has to think a little more practically. “I’d say in terms of needing their back watched, you’re in a worse position than me, _Red Hood._ ”

Todd is unphased. “Don’t think I don’t know your recent history. I’m not the only would-be hero sitting in this room right now, Slade.”

Kid has balls, Slade will give him that.

“For being in a prison, you’re well informed.”

Todd shrugs, smirks. “Pretty much the trademark of my family. So? You going to keep defending that I need you more than you need me, or can we move on to actually making a deal?”

He should be more annoyed, but for the first time in days, Slade laughs. “All right, kid. Fine. We’ll give this a shot.” Across the room, Billy folds his arms across his chest, giving him a disgusted look. “I’m sure I don’t need to give you a speech about what will happen if you betray me.”

“Imminent pain and death, I’m familiar.” Todd says flippantly. He offers out a hand, “Shake on it?”

Slade rolls his eye. “I don’t shake. Especially when the full terms of the contract haven’t been hammered out yet.”

Todd shrugs and withdraws his hand. “Fine, let’s talk then.”

 

* * *

 

It takes a couple days for them to settle on a concrete plan, conversations parsed out whenever they both have access to the communal areas. The ghost of Billy nags at Slade the entire time, but he’s largely able to ignore him by focusing on Todd, who true to his word has a lot of very useful information to share about the Asylum and the various levels of security hidden within it. Bat-made or otherwise.

“They’ll have changed some things, of course, knowing that I’m in here.” The kid says, as they loiter in the corridor outside the rec room on the second day, “But I figure between the two of us we can handle it.”

“Oh how comforting,” Billy scathingly says.

Ignoring him, Slade grunts an acknowledgement, before reaching up to his neck and tapping his index finger over the shock collar. It’s become an unpleasantly familiar presence over the last week; he very much wants it off. “And this?”

Todd’s eyes flick intelligently over it, lingering a moment at the front of Slade’s throat. “That won’t be a problem. I’ve got one of the guards on my payroll. He’ll slip me the tools I need to get it off.”

“Bribery?” Slade raises an eyebrow. “Doesn’t seem very Bat-like.”

“Part of the reason I’m in here. I do things a little differently to the rest of them.” Todd’s expression hardens for a moment. “Believing I’m crazy is just their way of excusing that it’s me doing it.”

“Heartbreaking.” Slade says, without an ounce of sentiment. “Now we’ve been discussing a lot of ‘how’, why don’t we move on to ‘when’?”

The kid takes the change of topic with grace, and that conversation occupies them a further twenty minutes, as it largely revolves comparing their various experience and knowledge of the Arkham shift rotations to identify the most vulnerable part of the night. It would only take one person to set off an alarm, after all, and that includes some of the patients as well as the guards. A lot of the crazies here would sabotage their attempt just to spite them, or in the case of certain individuals, for a laugh.

“What we could really do with is a distraction on the outside.” Todd is saying, eyes narrowed at the bars on one of the windows, “Something to keep my family from noticing too early. I’m sure as hell not paying any of the nutjobs in here to get their minions to provide it, though. They’d end up hurting innocent people, and I won’t—”

Slade hears something. Footsteps approaching.

In one swift motion, he moves forward, pressing Todd in against the wall and clapping his hand across the kid’s mouth to shut him up. Just in time too, as a pair of orderlies walk out of the doors of the rec room, heading straight down the hallway towards the first lock gate out. He can feel Todd swallow under his hand, a hand grabbing at the front of his uniform but not actually pushing; his eye stays on the orderlies as they move away. If either of them look back…

Slade hears the clang of the gate opening, then closing. They’re gone. He doesn’t go quite so far as to sigh in relief, but it’s a near thing.

“Idiot child,” Billy scoffs to the right of him. “He almost got you caught, Slade. You need to call off this farce now, before he gets you into an even worse situation.”

“Shut up,” Slade mutters before he can catch himself. Over the top of his hand, Todd’s eyes widen in confusion, and he inwardly curses himself. He thought he was getting better at not doing that. “Keep your voice down,” he adds to cover himself, looking back at Todd and increasing the pressure on his mouth for a moment, to emphasize the point.

It has a somewhat surprising effect.

Under the press of his hand, Todd’s pale skin darkens, reddens. The pupils of his eyes dilate, and Slade can feel the way the muscles of his body grow tense, his breathing quickens — just a little, but enough that it’s impossible for Slade to miss the way Todd’s chest presses against his own. The boy swallows again, harder this time, and... oh, that’s unexpected. And interesting.

The small rush he gets at that new information makes him leave his hand there longer than necessary, only sliding it off after a few moments and making sure to graze his fingertips over Todd’s lips as he does. He gets a sharp inhalation for that, and Slade lets himself give a slow, curling smirk in response.

“Is that right?”

“What…” Todd’s eyes flick away from him, which is even more telling. “Is what right?” he asks.

(“Oh lord.” Billy grumbles.)

“That Grayson’s not the only one of you who likes being pushed around.”

Todd flushes a little brighter, jaw clenching down as he protests, “I don’t— Fuck off!”

Slade’s amused to note that his voice, for all its irritation, is hushed. And that the hand gripping the uniform at the center of his chest isn’t actually doing anything, like pushing him away. He lifts his own hand, leans in a touch as he braces it against the wall over Todd’s shoulder, and the kid flattens back against the concrete a little but still doesn’t do anything to stop him. Slade lets himself enjoy the rush, the familiar pleasure of having utter control over a situation.

“For wanting me to back off, you’re being very accommodating,” Slade points out, dropping his voice some.

Todd _shivers_ , but glares at him all the same. “Maybe I’m being accommodating because you’re three times as strong as me and might be fucking _crazy_.”

For that, Slade shoves against him a little harder. His other hand jumping to the boy’s throat. “You don’t lie as well as you think you do, kid.” Todd’s adam apple bobs beneath his thumb. “Not with how red that pretty face of yours has gotten.”

The hand curled around his uniform clenches tight, Todd’s breath catching just a touch. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Is that what you want, kid?” Slade tightens his grip a little, presses Todd into the wall as he gets a small grunt of protest. “Plausible deniability?” He slides the hand on the wall down some, till he can brush his fingers over the shell of Todd’s ear. “Easier to defend your decisions if you never admit to actually making them, isn’t it?”

Todd’s jaw clenches down, but there’s no protest this time. No fear in his eyes though, only a sharp anticipation. Slade watches that as he slides his thumb over the jut of Todd’s trachea, nudging at the bottom of his chin till it tilts up. It puts him at the right angle for Slade to lean in, watching Todd breathe in and give, just a bit. His eyes close with a flicker, jaw easing as he shifts into the touch.

Slade slips his fingers off Todd’s throat, up to rest on his cheek, angle his head…

“It’s a shame you’re not honest with yourself,” he breathes.

Todd’s eyes snap open. He’s gaping, eyes wide and mouth parted in utter shock, and Slade fully enjoys the rush of power he gets as he smirks and steps away, brushing Todd’s suddenly loose grip away from him. He moves to the side, leaning against the wall beside the door and crossing his arms as Todd stares.

“Well?” Slade lifts an eyebrow. “You were talking about distractions, weren’t you?”

Beyond Todd, Billy is glaring at him. But for once, Slade finds it remarkably easy to ignore that.

Todd’s first noise is a choked one, something disbelieving and aborted. A hand lifts halfway, as if to cover his mouth or rake through his hair, but Todd halts that too, tilting his head back instead. He looks at the ceiling, down the hall, and then finally seems to manage to get himself at least a little bit together.

The glare turned on him is far from the most threatening Slade’s seen out of him. “You—” Todd grinds his teeth, hands clenching as he spits, “You’re a fucking asshole,” with all the shaken fury of someone fooled.

Slade meets it with his smirk, and a dry, “So I’ve been told. Now are we going to continue our discussion, or do you need to go jack off to things you’re definitely not actually into?”

The bright red of Todd’s flush is immensely satisfying. “Fuck you.”

“Only if you ask.” Todd can’t seem to actually get out anything in response to that except a wordless, shocked noise, so Slade takes the chance to add on, “I’d be _happy_ to play the big, bad villain for you, boy, if you can find your words.”

Todd is wordless for a moment, flush crawling up onto his ears as he stares with wide, blue eyes. Embarrassment, fury, and attraction all rolled into one. His mouth opens, like he’s going to say something, but it snaps shut again before anything can actually come out. Slade can’t quite help smirking a little wider.

Todd spins off the wall and strides off without a word, and Slade thinks the inevitable delay in their plans is entirely worth it.


	2. Chapter 2

It takes two days for Jason to come any closer to him than glaring across the room, and even then it’s only for the kid to sit down at his table with more force than necessary, tray of what can only questionably be called ‘food’ hitting hard enough the cup on it almost falls over. Slade watches with idle interest, waiting for it to settle before he lifts his gaze to Todd’s.

Billy, sitting to his side, frowns at the abrupt entrance and eyes the boy with clearly murderous intent. Not that Slade pays him any mind. Oh, the hallucination’s done his best to drive him mad over the past couple days, but with something else to focus on Slade’s found it much easier to cast the phantom’s presence to the back of his mind. And it’s handy that a simple fantasy, imagining Todd in all _manner_ of positions, never fails to make Billy change his tirade from something cuttingly aimed to griping about his impropriety and attraction to ‘immature, arrogant brats.’

Oh, if Todd knew the thoughts that have been foremost in his mind recently…

“I have the distraction,” the kid says, looking him right in the eye. “Tonight work for you, old man?”

There’s no small amount of aggression in his tone, and the narrowing of his eyes, and Slade smirks because he doesn’t see a point in hiding his amusement. The kid’s like some arrogant, angry new recruit, playing at being the big badass for an audience of one. Not that Todd’s not skilled, but it’s easy to see the aggression as what it is; a front to hide his discomfort. Now, whether that discomfort is based in wariness or attraction, well…

“That should do fine,” Slade agrees. “When?”

“Just after dinner.”

Slade pauses for a moment, taking a glance down at the trays of _dinner_ in front of them and arching an eyebrow. “Cutting things a little close, aren’t you, kid?”

Todd takes a bite of what Slade is fairly certain are meant to be mashed potatoes. Grimaces a little, but swallows it. (Immediately reaches for one of the small salt packets at the side of his tray.) “What? Did you expect to get a bunch of advance warning for a prison break?”

Slade hums. “More than twenty minutes might have been good. What if I hadn’t been here?”

Todd spoons up another bite. “Then I guess I would have just done it by myself. No harm, no foul, right? After all, the opportunity wouldn’t last, and you said you didn’t need me to get out of here.” The kid meets his gaze. “I’m sure you would have found another way.”

This is absolutely revenge for what he pulled on the kid a couple nights ago, even though it’s a petty, useless kind of revenge. Would Todd actually have left him? More than likely. Though maybe that good-hero streak would have set in, before Todd actually abandoned him to his own fate. Or maybe he’d just be nervous of the retribution Slade promised, before they ever cut their deal. (No, the more he considers the possibilities, the less Slade believes that the kid would actually have left him behind. It suits his front, but not the core of good the kid is trying to deny he has.)

“Sure, kid.”

Slade’s not particularly interested in the remains of his meal, but he puts the thought of exactly what it is out of mind and shovels another mouthful in. His enhancements will handle more or less anything but the most lethal poisons, so though the taste may not appeal, he’ll take the questionable energy over going hungry. The kid seems to have the same philosophy.

“What’s the distraction?” he asks eventually, when his tray is all but clear.

Todd looks up, one elbow resting on the table. “Oh, it’ll be pretty unmistakable.”

Slade scoffs, drawing the last couple bites of the ‘mashed potatoes’ into a pile. “For being a Bat, you’re not much of a team player, are you?”

And right on cue as soon as he says that, Billy flashes into existence out of the corner of his eye. “The boy’s going to get you killed, Slade,” is his scathing judgement. “You’d be better off killing him before he makes your situation worse.”

Oh, yes, because sudden murder of a fellow inmate would certainly aid his chances of escape.

“I can play nice,” Todd says, leaning onto the table with narrowing eyes. “But only when my teammates aren’t massive jackasses. Guess you blew that.”

Slade mimics the lean in, bracing his elbows on the table and letting his mouth curl into a lazy smirk. “Still upset at getting called out? I haven’t blown anything yet, but…” He lets his gaze flick lower, then return to Todd’s eyes. “If you ask nicely, I just might.”

It’s highly entertaining to watch the kid’s cheeks light up, the blush spreading to the tips of his ears even as he scowls. The kid sputters for a second, straightening up to offended stiffness, before he manages to snap, “Where the hell do you get off?”

It’s like the kid is just _handing_ him the opportunities on a silver platter.

“Generally, on teasing pretty boys who don’t like admitting what they’re interested in, but I’m flexible.” He snorts to himself as the kid’s face gets even redder, jaw all but welding itself shut, and glances down to give him just a bit of a break. He’s not going to be useful if Slade breaks him completely. “Take a breath before you combust, kid. It’s just words; you ex-Robins have always been good at the wordplay angle of the job, far as I remember.”

From his peripheral vision he can see Todd swallow, glancing away across the room. His shoulders don’t ease any. After a moment, he manages to grit out, “Maybe you should just back off before I decide to leave you here.”

Slade takes the last bite from his tray and sets down the poor excuse for a utensil before looking up to meet Todd’s eyes. “If you think I’d let that happen, think again. You’re not getting out of here without me, kid.”

Todd leans forward again, and this time his shoulders do ease, sliding to something that makes the kid look almost predatory. “Sure I can. And it’s as simple as not taking that collar off your neck; you can’t take a single step outside of pre-approved areas without that thing downing you.”

Slade doesn’t let himself react to that, visibly, but he knows his lack of immediate response is more than telling.

“You’re faster than me, sure. But I can absolutely dodge you long enough to get to places that you can’t follow. So don’t _fuck_ with me, Slade. Got that?”

This threat, he does believe.

He holds the kid's gaze, just to see if he'll back down after all, but Todd stays steady. Still, like some of the more dangerous men Slade's known in years past, except for that fire in his eyes. The most dangerous ones run cold, not hot. Todd's got enough fire in him to burn himself to the ground along with half the city. More, if he puts his mind to it. Of course, someone would have to make him very, very desperate first.

"Alright," Slade agrees, matching that stillness. "Fair enough, kid. You want to play this serious? We will. But that starts with you sharing your information, or I sink this whole venture before it even starts. Do we understand each other?"

Todd studies him, blatantly. Even if there were a weakness to be found, Slade's not old enough or out of practice enough to let a boy like this see it.

"You _are_ weak, Slade," Billy corrects, hovering near enough to his shoulder it's tempting to roll it back to push him away, except that there's nothing actually there to touch. Thin air won't care what he does to try and shoo it away. "You've let this boy set all the terms, let yourself go soft. Before, no one would have been able to force you into this place; you've lost your edge, your skill. This isn't _you;_ stop this farce and get back to what you're good at. Kill the boy, and anyone else that dares to stand in your way."

Ignorant of Billy's little speech, Todd finally nods, straightening up just a touch. "It's poison; through the meal."

Slade pauses, mind whirring through the implications of that. He's eaten. Todd's still eating. That—

"Relax, it's a low amount. After all, a place like this," Todd tilts his chin towards the guards near the door, "knows how to deal with a standard riot, and they know how to deal with an outside attack. There's nastier muscle sitting in that maximum security ward, but I'm sure as hell not letting those bastards loose just to get out myself. What this place is _not_ prepared for, is for most of its inmates to suddenly keel over. It's not enough to kill anyone, but they'll be too busy sorting out everyone else to notice us."

"I'm seeing at least one flaw in your plan," Slade points out, glancing pointedly down at the trays between them.

Todd snorts. "Told you to relax, didn't I? Your enhancements will take care of whatever you took in, and I skipped the juice this time around.”

His gaze flicks to the full cup, still sitting at the corner of Todd's tray. No, he never even touched it, did he? Hm. He hadn’t noticed anything; maybe he is losing a bit of his edge, trapped in this place.

Billy’s demand of, “You’re just going to let this boy poison you and get away with it?” is all too close to his ear, and Slade twitches before he can restrain the reaction.

Todd catches it. Watches him, as he turns the twitch into a roll of both shoulders and a minor stretch, with sharp eyes. Slade doesn’t offer any explanation, and after a couple more moments Todd dips his head just an inch and goes back to his meal without commenting.

“What’s your estimation of how much longer this poison will take to work?” Slade asks, putting the moment behind them and refusing to give the hallucination the satisfaction — not that he really thinks it feels anything like that — of any real response from him.

If he’s not even feeling anything from it, then what does he care if he ingested a little poison?

Todd glances up to the clock hanging on the wall above the food line, high above any of their heads. “Another five to ten minutes, depending on how thirsty people were, and who ate first.”

Yes, plus the differences with body weight, and how much poison they end up ingesting with it spreading perhaps unevenly in the juice. Hard to accurately calculate something like that, with a sample size this diverse. That's not even counting people like himself, who might have resistances or higher metabolisms; Arkham has some of those that aren't considered dangerous enough to keep out of gen pop. 

What that does mean is that the reaction will be somewhat staggered, but close enough together to cause the panic Todd is counting on. It's a good method, Slade will admit at least privately. The boy's got a decent mind for strategy.

"I assume the rest of the plan is as discussed?" Slade asks, considering, idly, if he wants to return his tray, or if it would be better to keep it as a weapon. Something to be thrown, if necessary.

Todd shrugs, gaze sweeping past him, around the room. "Yeah. I've got the tools with me for the collar, and far as I've seen, nothing's changed with the guards. You follow my lead, I’ll get us out of the public eye.”

Billy makes a disgruntled noise, but doesn’t comment any further. Unusual.

Slade dips his head just enough to give consent, and lets the relative silence take over. At least for a few moments. Before he asks, “Why not just make all this lethal? I wouldn’t think you’d be soft on criminals like these, kid. Considering.”

For a couple seconds, Todd doesn’t answer. His gaze is still idling somewhere over Slade’s left shoulder. “I’m not. The ones in solitary, some of them deserve it. The others, I wouldn’t save. But the ones out here? Sure, some of them are psychopathic bastards, but some are just…” Todd shrugs, spinning his spoon between his fingers. “Ill. They might not have had control over whatever they did to get put in here, and they might not deserve to die either. I’m not making a call like that without knowing for sure.”

Todd pushes his tray away, setting the spoon down near the last few bites left and taking a small breath. Then he looks up, voice lowering just a little to the point where perhaps only someone with Slade's senses could pick it up. "If I kill, it'll be a lot more targeted than this."

Slade files that away, into his mental notes on the kid. Todd may be trying to be the ruthless, dangerous criminal, but the boy's got a kind heart under all the scarring done to it. It doesn't mean he should be underestimated, but it means he has his weaknesses; ways in which he'll be predictable. Ways to get him to do anything Slade wants, once you factor in all that emotional damage that makes him such a wounded, angry child. Still hunting for a father's approval, Slade would bet.

(Wayne certainly does leave his little birds with so many lovely, exploitable _issues_.)

“Besides,” Todd says, shaking away the seriousness to his tone, “a bunch of inmates being sick is going to be less likely to cause a full lockdown than them dying.”

Also a fair point, though not why Todd’s doing it this way instead, even if the boy’s convinced himself it is.

Well, what does Slade care? Todd’s idiosyncrasies are only relevant as long as they can be used to manipulate him, and in this case it doesn’t matter. The plan is set already, and Slade already knew that the boy wasn’t going to kill to get out of here. He’d made that clear from the start, avoiding any and all paths that involved collateral damage, no matter how minor.

He doesn’t doubt that the boy will kill in self defense, if necessary, but premeditated murder of anyone but the worst villains seems to be beyond his comfort. (Slade would be curious to find out if he fits into that category, though not so curious as to try testing it.)

Across the room, someone stands with an abnormally loud clatter of a tray, and Todd looks over his shoulder. The inmate’s got a hand to his stomach, stumbling away from the table with a guard already on route to intercept. His tray of food, mostly empty, is on the ground, and the other inmates at that table are staring at him, some with more awareness than others.

The guard approaches with clear wariness, one hand at his belt and brow furrowed, not that his caution matters in this case. Within a few moments the inmate is dropping to both knees and heaving, splattering the ground and very nearly the boots of the guard himself.

Todd snorts and turns back, ignoring the reactions of the guard and the other inmates both. “One down.” He leans onto the table, crossing his arms in front of him. “Give it a few more minutes; let the panic set in first.”

"And then I follow your lead, is that right?" Slade asks, letting the dryness slide across his tone.

"What? Don't trust me?"

Slade doesn't scoff, but he does let his mouth curl into a thin smile. "Nothing personal, kid. I don't trust anyone more than myself."

The kid's eyes narrow just a little, and the flicker of a smile is sharp. "Well then how about you just trust in your own ability to improvise?"

There's an urge, sharp and clear, to snap a hand out and grab the kid. Just to show him how much this game of his isn't at all in his favor; how _fast_ it could be turned on him, if Slade felt like it. All he’d have to do is move, and with the distraction already starting it’s not likely anyone would notice. Not anyone except Todd, of course, who he can let walk away with just a few bruises as a reminder.

He doesn’t.

Instead, Slade leans in a touch, bracing one arm on the table as he lowers his voice. He can see Billy again, out of the corner of his eye. “Careful, boy. Watch that tongue of yours.”

To his credit, the boy holds his ground. Keeps his gaze and doesn’t give, smile gone but voice steady as he counters, “You’re not going to jeopardize this now, not when it’s so close.”

Another harsh, violent sound of someone emptying their guts, off behind Slade somewhere that he doesn’t bother to pinpoint.

His hand snaps out. Todd jerks, but not fast enough to stop Slade’s fingers closing over one wrist, steel-solid and harsh enough to leave bruises as he drags the boy’s arm to the middle of the table.

“I’d suggest you not assume you know what I’m capable of, boy,” Slade warns, keeping his grip carefully regulated; don’t want to break the kid’s wrist. “I don’t threaten unless I’m willing to enforce.”

Todd's not pulling against his hand, probably knows that's useless, but he is drawn tight like the most explosive of coils. Ready to move, if necessary. “What the hell do you care if I tease a little bit? They're just words.”

“Funny, I remember saying something like that earlier.” Slade hauls him a touch closer, forcing him to lean over the table as well and bringing them close together. He lowers his voice. “You're the one who wanted to play this serious, kid. You don't get to have it both ways. Be professional, and so will I.”

He tracks the thick bob of Todd's throat as he swallows, and still the kid's voice comes out surprisingly steady. “Or?”

Slade lets himself smile then, small and not remotely friendly. “Or I suppose you'll find out whether I default to wordplay, or violence. If you want to try your luck.”

He waits another moment, holding Todd's gaze, then releases him. Instead of recoiling, the kid is measured in sliding his arm away and leaning back. Slow enough to not look panicked, except for the slightly elevated rate of his breathing. Kid's got pretty good control, for his youth. Not enough to fool him, but good nonetheless.

Todd takes a slightly deeper breath. “In a minute, I’m going to pretend to be as sick as the rest of them. You’ll get me to one of the guards still at the door, convince them to take us both out of here. Shouldn’t be too hard; nurse for me, and no one wants you hanging around in a room where everything else has gone to shit. Once we’re out, I distract him, one of us knocks him out, and we proceed as planned.” His fingers drum the table’s surface. “That meet with your approval, Slade?”

After considering for a moment — and letting his gaze flick past Todd to take a look at how the room is slowly descending into confusion — he inclines his head. “Not bad. You can pull that off?”

"Wouldn't be my plan if I couldn't."

Or if the boy didn't believe he could hold up his part of the plan. Good to know that Slade does have his respect, even if he's a brat at times. That’s just the youth talking. (And the lack of a real father; Bat left more issues than he solved, he’d bet. Boy’s got the urge to challenge any authority figure that even looks his way.)

"Alright," he agrees, under the sound of more clattering and retching, more people falling victim to Todd’s poisoning. “On your mark then, kid. Whenever you’re ready.”

The smell’s starting to get in his nose, and though it’s familiar, it’s still unpleasant. One of the downsides to having the enhanced senses he does. He’ll be pleased to be out of this room, sooner rather than later.

Todd nods, and then twists to look around the room. It’s a mess; the number of sick inmates has risen to seven or eight, and the others are starting to realize it’s something more than just a couple upset stomachs. A bunch of mentally unstable inmates starting to panic is a very unpredictable, dangerous affair. It looks like the staff in the room is starting to realize it too.

“Now’s good.”

Without giving him time to answer, Todd pushes off the bench with a distinctly drunken-looking sway. One hand sweeps over the table, knocking his tray off it and spilling the full cup of juice down across the floor. Slade pushes to his feet as well, letting his expression tighten as he watches Todd slump against the end of the table, one hand bracing on the metal and the other wrapping around his stomach. That’s his cue.

He circles the table, moving to shoulder his way underneath one of the kid’s arms, lifting him to his feet. “Come on, kid,” he says, for the benefit of anyone watching, and then starts circling them through the room to get to one of the doors.

Todd’s playing it well, hanging on his side. Slade can feel the uneven, tight breaths and the way he’s throwing his weight with every step, pretending his legs aren’t working very well. If he didn’t know the kid was faking it, he might actually be a little worried about him. Since he does, he just gets them to the other side of the room and up right in front of the one guard left at the door, his hand now hovering over his belt as he stares at them. There’s panic in his eyes.

“Not a step closer, Wilson,” the man demands. ‘Cowan,’ his name-tag says. Slade’s not familiar with this one in particular.

Slade ignores the mess of the room at his back. “Kid went down fast; need to get him down to the nursing station.”

“You’re not leaving,” Cowan denies, gaze flickering past them towards the rest of the room. Distracted and worried, excellent combination for manipulation.

“No,” Slade says, adding a bit of a growl to his voice, “the idea was you’d escort us. He needs a doctor, and I want out of this room before it turns into a riot. Got it?”

The guard hesitates.

Jason jerks in his grasp, and Slade is quick to let go and shove the kid forward, giving him just about the right angle to crash to both knees and throw up all over the ground right in front of Cowan’s boots. More than a bit gets right on them, and oh, the man looks horrified and a little nauseous himself. He takes a quick step back, but it only pushes his shoulders up against the door.

Slade’s mildly impressed. He doesn’t know all that many people that can vacate their stomachs on command. Interesting skill to have; definitely sells the act.

His nose wrinkles a little as the smell reaches him, and he lets his jaw set, but no more. In this case, showing the disgust should benefit their goal, and as far as he can tell, it does. Cowan looks at him, looks back down at Todd, and grimaces.

“I’ll take him,” comes the decision, “but you’re not coming, Wilson.”

Slade only snorts, not bothering to even feel worried about the slight derailment. “You want to try carrying him down there? Be my guest.”

Todd, after all, is not a small man. He may not be Slade’s size, but he’s six feet and built of muscle all the same, and when that becomes uncooperative, dead weight…

The guard tries, twice, to get Todd high enough to wrap an arm around his waist. Fails both times, with the boy leaning weight into him and making absolutely no effort to stand on his own. Slade crosses his arms and watches with one raised eyebrow, knowing the conclusion from the start. Even if Todd didn’t actively want to make it harder, very few people have the strength to carry someone his size.

When Cowan almost slips into the pool Todd’s left is when he seems to give up. He backs up, pulls the device at his waist that Slade recognizes as the control for his shock collar, and says, “You carry him. One wrong step and I bring you down, Wilson. Don’t try anything.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Slade drawls, before stepping forward to pick Todd back up. He slings the kid’s arm around his shoulders, heaving him up easily enough. “Lead the way, officer.”

Cowan stares at him, then braces himself before nodding and stepping to the door. Slade watches as he unlocks it, then pulls the door open, “Out, quickly.”

He hauls Todd forward. The kid’s still doing his best impression of a sick, possibly dying, person, even to the point of letting his feet mostly slide across the floor. Outside the food hall, the amount of noise around them drops off dramatically, though they do have to move out of the way of a couple more guards and orderlies rushing past them into the room.

“Now, Slade,” Billy hisses from behind him. “Kill the guard.”

As per usual, Slade ignores him. This is the kid’s plan, and it’s a good one; he’s going to follow it through.

They make it further down the hallway, heading away from the mess to the infirmary. Cowan keeps glancing back at them, nervous and paranoid — with good reason. The kid might be here as a John Doe, but Slade has a reputation no one can ignore. His thumb stays on the trigger button for the shock collar the entire time, and if Slade moves too quick or acts too threatening that could definitely be a problem.

He needs Todd’s distraction first.

They’re about halfway when he finally decides to pull it. This part of the prison is quiet, no other staff around, and away from the view of any cells or other prisoners. A quietly whispered, “Drop me.” makes its way into Slade’s ear, and he hears the telltale sounds of Todd working up another vomiting fit a second before he does so.

“Christ, kid,” he hisses, to make his reaction more convincing, “Didn’t know you had anymore left in you.”

“What the hell is going on now?” Cowan whips round at the sound, then recoils. “God damn it, I don’t have time for this. Get back up, inmate; now.” 

“Can’t,” Todd chokes out, “C-can’t… hurts so…” he starts to cough roughly, luring Cowan closer as he moves to investigate, and Slade figures that’s as good a moment as any to strike.

Taking advantage of Cowan not looking at him, he steps forward, seizes the man by the back of his neck, and then rams his head into the wall. Once, then twice to be sure. He may not be killing for Todd’s sake (and also because he doesn’t want to give Billy the satisfaction) but that doesn’t mean he’s going to take the risk of not doing the job properly either.

As Cowan’s unconscious body slides to the ground, Todd wipes his mouth clean and stands up to look back at Slade, a displeased frown tugging at his lips. “You didn’t have to go that hard on him, he was just doing his job.”

“Think about how well this would go if he’d managed to zap me first, kid, then say that again.” Slade rolls his eye, “Now?”

Todd glances around them, “Let’s find somewhere quiet to stow him, then I can get the collar off.”

Knowing the prison as well as he does, Todd's version of ‘find’ is to lead them directly to a nearby supply closet, and then pick exactly the right key off the guard's belt to open it, first try. While Todd pulls off just a couple keys off the larger loop, apparently knowing just what he's going for, Slade takes the time to restrain Cowan up against the support of one of the shelves. He takes the guard's belt too, with its stock of various suppression tools, though he has to use the very last hole in it. Good enough for now.

“Alright, come here,” Todd says, the aforementioned tools that he bribed some other guard for now in his hands. Stored, doubtless, somewhere in his jumpsuit for the duration of the night.

Slade goes to join the boy where he's kneeling, occupied with spreading the small assortment across the floor. Once he's there, Todd sticks the handle of a screwdriver between his teeth and then mutters a command for him to hold still as he leans in towards the collar. Slade's not foolish enough to do otherwise, even though Billy — suddenly standing in one corner — starts up an immediate tirade on the stupidity of allowing anyone at his neck, especially ones with questionably sharp, metal things in hand.

The actual removal only takes a couple of minutes. Slade forces himself not to react to the sounds of clicking and hissing, as well as the occasional swear word from Todd. He does at one point grunt, though, when the kid tugs at his neck while the collar’s not quite loose yet. “Watch it, boy.”

“Almost done, old man; hold your horses.”

True to his word, another second of tinkering and it’s done. Slade allows himself a sigh of relief as the metal falls from his neck to the floor, even reaching up to rub the skin of his neck with one hand. Feels damn good to be rid of the thing, with its imminent threat no longer literally hanging around his neck.

“Better?” Todd asks knowingly.

“You know it, kid.” Slade stands up, rolling his shoulders and flexing his hands before pulling the stun baton off his newly acquired belt. “Ready to get out of here now?”

He nods, standing up as well. “They’ll be starting lockdown protocols now, but if we move fast we should be able to make it down to the old sewer tunnels. They’ll let us reach the bay unimpeded, then all we need is a boat and we’re free.”

“Right, ‘all we need’. Why do I feel like it won’t actually be as simple as you’re making it sound to me, kid?”

Todd grins, and now it's just a little vicious, the light of impending success starting to brighten his eyes. “This is Gotham, isn't it? Did you think it was going to be easy, old man?” 

Slade rolls his eye. Of course he didn’t, but he does expect the kid to be a little more forthcoming in regards to any further trouble they might encounter. 

Nevermind, he’s never needed his hand held before, and he certainly doesn’t need it now from some punk kid.

Reaching over, Slade satisfies himself by lightly clipping Todd across the back of the head with his hand. “Call me old man one more time, kid, and I’ll make it difficult in ways you won’t expect.”

Todd yelps, surprised for a second though his smile barely dims. “That a promise?” he challenges.

Slade eyes him for a moment, then with a sigh reaches again to shove the boy forward to the closet door.

“Let’s go find out.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter, the real fun stuff begins, we promise ;D


End file.
